


Revelation

by Scarylady



Series: Secret Service [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarylady/pseuds/Scarylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Four of the Secret Service series:<br/>Aedan returns after six weeks, wondering what's keeping Zev so long.</p><p>Contains slash, D/s, bondage, spank and caning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

  
“ _Amore mio_.”

“Zev.” Aedan hooked his fingers in the lace of the Antivan’s shirt and yanked him forward into a deep kiss. The feel of his lover’s warm, lithe body through his thin, indoor clothing was like coming home. “I missed you.”

“And I you, my Warden; but I am surprised that you are back in Denerim so soon.” There was a hint of question in the statement which Aedan caught.

“Ye-es, well, I was curious to find out what was keeping you.” Aedan smirked down at his beloved. “You said you were staying to have some fun with Alistair for a few days, and it’s now been six weeks.” His fingers played gently with the soft hair at Zevran’s nape and his tone was light, but his gaze was rather searching. “Has our handsome King been absorbing all your time, or have you found a new source of pleasure?”

Zevran was too sharp to miss the thrust of the question, and Aedan hadn’t expected him to. “Oh, what’s this? Surely not jealous, _amore mio_?”

Blunt fingers scraped through silken hair. “Envious, more like. I got one night with Alistair and you’ve had weeks.” Aedan’s other hand slid down Zev’s spine, making him shiver through the fine cloth. “Is everything… all right?”

Slim, dexterous hands worked their way inside his jerkin to the fastenings of his shirt. “What are you asking me? Have I broken him? He is intact, although that soft skin is now a little tougher, I think. There have been issues to be dealt with, but I believe you will be pleased when you see him. So much buried sensuality I have discovered.” Years of experience never stopped Aedan from being amazed at how swiftly and easily Zev could dispose of clothes. Already, they were both stripped to the waist, shirts and other odds and ends in a puddle on the floor.

The Antivan’s warm mouth moved over his throat, leaving a trail of expert kisses and nibbles. There had been others happy to share the Warden Commander’s bed these last few weeks, but no-one moved him quite like his Zevran. If Aedan wanted to finish this conversation, he was going to have to work fast.

“Good. I take it he’ll be coming back here, later tonight? I’m invited to the formal dinner he’s hosting; we can return together.” His lover hummed an unconcerned assent against his throat before moving lower. “I’ll be leading the game. He’ll learn a lot from seeing how well you perform.”

Zevran’s head snapped up and his eyebrows drew down, amber eyes focussing sharply, in an instant. “Oh, is that so? May I ask why?”

A knowing smirk curved Aedan’s mouth. “You’ve worked so hard on training him; I want to put him through his paces. Is there a problem?”

The flicker of annoyance in his beloved’s eyes told him his suspicions were, at least a little, justified. “You are too harsh, my Warden. I won’t have my work undone for one night’s pleasure.”

One calloused thumb ran over Zev’s generous lower lip. “Are you sure that’s all it is, Zev?”

Zevran’s warm skin slid against his, a practiced move that Aedan knew well. He was to be distracted with flesh, but his lover’s amber eyes were shuttered, emotion hidden behind bland amusement. “Of course. What else?”

Two could play this game. “Hm, let me think now.” He grasped Zev’s tight arse, pulling him in to grind their groins together. The shutters slipped slightly, replaced with raw need. “Maybe that you’re being selfish,” a swirl of Aedan’s hips made Zev catch his breath, “or greedy,” he dipped his head to lick a pointed eartip and whispered softly into that aural cavity, “or that you’re in danger of breaking the Rule.”

The lithe body pressed against his was instantly still. “That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Is it?” Aedan’s expression was serious, his jaw set. His dark eyes bored into Zevran’s. “Alistair isn’t the kind of man with whom you can spend this much time without him becoming involved, Zev. He’s my best friend and I won’t have him hurt. We have the Rule for a _reason_ ; it’s to protect people like him from people like us.”

 _  
The Rule: we shall not seduce anyone who expects more from us than sex.   
_   
They had agreed it at the beginning, seven years ago, during the Blight. It was Zevran’s own code: if someone needs exclusivity, romantic involvement, then, ultimately, a poly-amorous entanglement will hurt them. It had served them well, prevented a number of messy problems; they were sensual plunderers, not heartbreakers.

The mask was firmly in place, wide mouth smiling, brilliant eyes showing only polite interest. “There is no problem, no _involvement,_ for you to concern yourself with, my Warden.”

Aedan grinned affectionately, kissing him on the nose. “Good. Then you won’t have any problems with my plan for tonight, right?” _Gotcha.  
_

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

The sight of Aedan, up near the top of the main table, flirting his heart out with a bevy of noble beauties, was proving a serious distraction for Alistair. Up on the High Table, the King gave mechanical responses to the Rivaini ambassador’s wife, while on his other side the Queen entertained the Rivaini ambassador – in honour of whose appointment this dinner had been arranged – with her customary grace and elegance.

He hadn’t set eyes on Aedan since that first night and, seeing his pale blond hair pulled smoothly back and his dark eyes twinkling at some jest, a myriad of images swirled in the King’s head. Aedan’s lips around his cock, the first mouth ever to touch it. His hands tight on Alistair’s wrists, holding him firmly in place while Zevran… _Oh, Maker_. His silk breeches felt far too tight and he tried to subtly adjust himself under the table, while laughing at what he hoped was a mild witticism for, in truth, he was no longer listening.

The Queen’s annoyed whisper in his ear, her lips hardly moving, brought him back to his senses. “For the Maker’s sake, Alistair, show some decorum. Royalty do not sit and gawk like smitten schoolboys.”

 _  
Huh?   
_   
He turned his astonished gaze on her, flushing to the eyebrows; unwilling to grasp that he’d been spotted, unable to even consider what his response should be. What do you say to your wife when she sees you panting for a man? She seemed more annoyed at his indiscretion than discomposed and hissed in his ear, “I realise she’s very beautiful, but do try to hide your interest in public, at the very least.” She turned immediately to address her neighbour, while Alistair bit his lip to stifle unseemly laughter and wondered which of the women surrounding Aedan his wife thought he was pursuing…

Once the interminable dinner ended, and the tables were pulled back to allow the guests space to mingle, Alistair beat a hasty retreat into the gardens. It was a warm night and many people did the same, strolling amidst the flowerbeds. The King ducked away from the most enthusiastic of his guests and dived into one of the more secluded paths of the shrubbery, needing time to calm down; looking for an opportunity to reduce the colour in his cheeks and the painful lump in his breeches. It would not be long before he could realistically leave, slip out of the palace, down to the Warden compound and-

His thoughts were interrupted by a firm grasp on his wrist, pulling him against a hard body even taller and wider than his own. A strong hand pulled his head up, and warm lips descended, stubble scraping against his own. The kiss was savage; no finesse, no gentleness, just raw need driving it forward, tongues tangling until Alistair whimpered under Aedan’s mouth. Only then was he released, a dark chuckle rumbling past his ear as lips and teeth moved to taste his throat.

“You’re _mine_ tonight.” Aedan’s voice was deep and a little harsh, as unlike Zev’s dulcet tones as it was possible to be. “You _and_ Zevran; you’re both _mine_.” The words sank through Alistair, from the throat they were grated against, all the way down to his aching cock. There was only one possible response; even here, in the Palace gardens, with the murmur of his guests out among the beds and borders. Alistair sank to his knees on the flagstones, shrouded by the thick shrubberies, laying his forehead against the Warden Commander’s velvet breeches. With great daring, he turned his head, rubbing his cheek against the hard ridge distorting the cut of the fine clothes. Aedan’s sharp gasp excited him, while the musky scent of desire drove him crazy.

Alistair turned his face up imploringly and a nod gave him the permission he needed. With trembling hands he manipulated the buttons holding up the flap of velvet, letting it drop. Only a short, sharp pull was required to lower Aedan’s smallclothes a little; just enough to expose his thick, hard length and allow it to spring free. They were committed now; before this moment Alistair could just be seen to have dropped something, an easy excuse if anyone came around a corner. From this point on there could be no doubt, no ambiguity; the King was kneeling to suck the Warden Commander’s cock, and to be observed would be a catastrophe. The mere thought thrilled Alistair, taught him for the first time exactly what a turn-on danger could be. He licked an exploratory stripe up the hot, velvet skin, enjoying every aspect of this adventure: the submission, the danger, the scent and taste of his best friend.

Six weeks of slipping off to see Zev at every opportunity had given Alistair a previously undiscovered appreciation of the male body, and an excellent teacher in pleasuring it. He used the arts he had learnt to good advantage; licking and teasing until Aedan moaned his approval, then taking the silky head in his mouth and using suction and tongue to work the man into a frenzy. Despite the danger they were in, Aedan would not allow him to rush; when it seemed that he was close to the brink, he fisted his hand in Alistair’s short hair and held him back, allowing only the kneeling man’s tongue to touch his tip.

An attempt to supplement his work with his hands earned Alistair a warning growl, and so he contented him with licking and tickling with his tongue, until Aedan once again permitted him to engulf the hard flesh.

“That’s good. Zev’s taught you well.” The hand in his hair pressed him down slowly, pushing the thick cock further into his mouth. Alistair had only been partially taught the technique of relaxing his throat, but he did his best and Aedan didn’t push him too hard, rewarding him for his efforts. “You may touch yourself.”

While Alistair’s mouth continued to slide up and down Aedan’s silky hardness, his hands took advantage of the permission he’d been given. It was an enormous relief to unbutton his breeches, freeing his own rigid cock from the constricting clothes. Some of the voices in the garden were uncomfortably close, no more than two paths away, but Alistair was already lost to consequences. If Aedan told him to stop, then he would do so immediately, otherwise he would continue even if the whole Court were to stand and watch. He grasped his cock in one hand and used the palm of the other to cover the head, spreading his own moisture to provide a warm wet enclosure. The sensation was so welcome he moaned in relief, his voice vibrating around the flesh in his mouth and making Aedan respond in turn with a hiss of pleasure.

“Let’s see how good you are, hmm? If you can make us come together, I’ll have a reward for you later.” Aedan’s hand released Alistair’s hair, allowing him the freedom to make his own decisions. It was going to be difficult to time this properly; he had very little experience of the Commander’s reactions and couldn’t use his hands to control matters. Alistair wanted to impress his friend, to show him how much he had learnt, but he could only see one way to be absolutely sure. Sucking carefully, keeping Aedan away from climax, Alistair stroked his own flesh hard and fast, taking himself quickly to the very edge. He moved the cupping hand; he couldn’t risk a sudden explosion from the added friction and, when he felt the change, the drawing up of his balls and the surge behind them, he gripped himself hard at the base, denying himself orgasm. Keeping that grip nice and tight, Alistair continued with his own stimulation, allowing the pressure and sweet pleasure-pain to build, while he drew hard on Aedan with his mouth.

He gasped around the hard flesh, pained little noises of desperate need while, above his head, Aedan murmured encouragement. Alistair hollowed his cheeks, providing suction while using his tongue to best advantage. The cock in his mouth stiffened, and Aedan’s quiet stream of compliments turned to rasping breaths and stifled groans. _Soon_. His own cock felt like it was bursting; deliberately over-stimulated and tightly gripped. _Soon_. Alistair took the Commander a little deeper, rubbing his tongue just below the head and felt it swell, nudging at the back of his mouth. _Now_. He released the constricting grip, and stroked his shaft fast and furious, his cry of relief strangled in his throat. It felt incredible, wonderful, the head of his cock swelling almost instantly, pleasure surging through him. Aedan’s groans and curses were his own; their organs jerking and pumping in harmony, a hot jet hitting the back of Alistair’s throat as his own release arced onto the flagstones.

Aedan drew Alistair to his feet and, while their hands worked quickly to rearrange their clothing, he kissed the King with sweet, gentle affection. “I’ll see you in a short while,” he said, “naked, of course.”

Alistair nodded, “Of course.”

 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

With the room fully prepared, and the evening heavy with drowsy warmth, Zevran napped on the big bed, awaiting the arrival of his lovers. As he often did on warm nights, he dreamt of Antiva, of the time after his apprenticeship ended. It had been a time of pride and delight, of being admired and feared. A time when his smooth, hard shell was perfectly formed, crafted by the best; he had revelled in it, believed in it, known that all things were as they should be.

 _  
“What’s this?” The body hung in chains, facing away from him; broad shoulders straining to hold his weight, his feet barely touching the ground. His head was bowed, short red-gold hair above the soft nape.   
_

_  
“A runaway apprentice, recaptured this morning.” The Crow Master looked over the swinging body dispassionately, and turned hauntingly familiar, dark-brown eyes on Zevran. “He’s too weak, too trusting, to be of any use to us, but he can serve as an example.”    
_

_  
“As you wish, Maestro.” The whip that the blond human handed him was heavy, and, when he shook it out, metal tips clattered on the flagstones. The muscular back was smooth, had clearly never felt the whip before. This was not a whip designed to punish, but to kill slowly. It would flay away golden skin and chunks of flesh, slice by slice, until all that was left was meat.    
_

Zev turned restlessly in the bed, confusion clouding his dreaming mind. He’d lived this as an observer, had seen firsthand the horrific reminder of why one did not cross the Crows. The whip hadn’t been his to wield, the runaway had been a boy of fifteen or so. His memory beat on the doors of the Fade, trying to tell him that something was wrong. 

_  
He stripped off his shirt and limbered his arm, looking around at the watching faces. The entire cell had turned out, under orders to see this. Everyone from the youngest apprentice to the most seasoned Crow must observe. One face in the crowd caught his eye; a boy of maybe twelve, pale blonde hair tucked behind sharp ears. The boy was gazing at the hanging victim, his amber eyes anguished and Zevran’s followed, really seeing the man for the first time.   
_

The realisation that the hanging man was Alistair almost pulled Zev awake, his conscious mind swimming for the surface world. But the undertow of dreams sucked him back down, taking his piece of new knowledge and weaving it into the scenario.

 _  
Zevran held the whip like a viper that may bite at any moment, staring at the smooth, vulnerable back of his gentle lover. There was no way out; no way to spin this. No point begging for mercy, the Crows had none. No chance of escape, not with the entire cell watching. The more time ticked away, the more his own weakness showed; weakness that would be exploited against him, weakness he could not afford. The sweat of cold fear dripped down his back; his entire training screamed at him to wield the whip, to do it now.   
_   
  
_People do not matter; lovers come and go; only the kill is important._   


_  
“Well, Zevran; are we to wait all day?” The dark eyes of his Crow Master were hard and cold, only a hint of his unholy amusement at the situation showing. The fact that he wore Aedan’s face should have rung alarm bells, but instead it melded into the past seamlessly.   
_

_  
“I-” Zevran was being torn in half, training and emotion warring within him. The tension around him grew; every moment he showed weakness, the danger loomed greater.    
_

_  
“I cannot do this, Maestro.”   
_

_  
His Master’s vicious amusement was clear as the trap closed. “You will do it, or join him.” The human shrugged, unconcerned. “Choose.”   
_

_  
He did not hesitate. The heavy whip clattered to the flagstones; when he walked forward, it was Rinna who took up his previous position and retrieved the wicked implement from where it fell. Zevran covered Alistair’s larger body with his own as best he could, arms locked around his chest and forehead against the back of his neck. The whip sang and bit, agony blooming in its wake. He-   
_

-screamed. Except he didn’t; instead he made a strangled noise, screaming through the frozen vocal chords of sleep, breaking the dream, bringing him back to reality. The dream-feeling of being threatened with danger brought Zevran to alertness instantly, his training coming to the fore, but all he could remember was that Rinna had been hurting him, a fire in his back. Nothing unusual there, he’d had many, many such dreams over the years, dreams of her torturing him or knifing him in the dark, ending his life. 

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Kneeling naked in this room was nothing new to Alistair, but doing so with Zevran kneeling as his side felt strange and wrong. His world had tilted on its axis, changed beyond recognition by the sight of tanned skin and swirling tattoos, held in a posture of submission that was so perfect Alistair knew he could never match it. Changed also by the large human, dressed in loose trousers and shirt, to whom they both belonged for the evening.

He remembered what Zev had said about Aedan: that he was a harsh _Padrone_ , and that Alistair would run from him. He couldn’t decide whether the shiver that ran down his back was good or bad.

“I have decided that tonight you shall divert me with games. I have had a tiring journey, and I wish to relax and be entertained.” Aedan’s deep, gravelly voice held an edge of amusement, making Alistair wonder what he had in mind. His friend had always had a wicked sense of humour. He handed each of the kneeling men a fairly large plug and a vial of oil. “Prepare each other and insert these. Later you will be glad you did.”

That sounded ominous.

Aedan took a seat and watched as Alistair carefully oiled and stretched Zevran before sliding the plug into place. The assassin permitted it all without reaction. With the feel of that silken ring under his fingers, he’d been tempted for a moment to prolong it, to seek that spot inside Zevran, to slyly offer him a little pleasure. The steady regard of those dark eyes prevented him, instilled caution. Challenging Aedan would be a Bad Plan.

When they swapped over, Alistair was glad he’d refrained, realising immediately just how much self-control Zevran had utilised to keep completely still. The fingers that oiled and rubbed and pressed into him were gentle and impersonal and he still struggled not to push back, not to jerk his hips, biting his lip against a moan. It felt so damn _good_. The plug flared widely, wider than any he’d taken, and Alistair fought to relax, to let it seat into place. It was heavy; once his muscles closed around it he realised just how aware he would be of it, every moment. With every movement the weight would tug at him. Maker, his cock was already ramrod stiff and ready, just from this.

“Good.” 

Aedan studied the two men who, once again, knelt before him, and Alistair wondered what he saw. Next to Zev he felt bulky, clumsy. He noticed too, out of the corner of his eye, that Zev did not kneel as he did. The assassin knelt with knees apart, his feet meeting in a ‘V’ behind him. It looked unnatural, uncomfortable, but he appeared totally relaxed, his whole body lower slung in this posture, and yet, extremely upright. Alistair shifted slightly, trying to emulate it, and Aedan saw the movement.

“Zevran, show Alistair why you sit as you do.” He plucked an apple out of a basket beside him and held it out.

“ _Sì, Padrone_.” One swift move and Zevran stood erect with the apple in his hand. No shuffling, no scrambling; just one surge forward and a foot beneath him for leverage.

Aedan grinned at Alistair. “You’re wondering why he’s never taught it to you; right?”

“Er, yes… Ser.” He couldn’t call Aedan _Padrone_. He just _couldn’t_.

“Tell him, Zevran.”

“ _Sì, Padrone_.” Zevran put the apple back in the basket and returned to his place, dropping easily into position. “I have not taught it to you, Alistair, because you have no need to move swiftly and economically to kill your lover.” The statement was utterly unemotional, and chilled Alistair to the bone. Zevran was always so kind and compassionate; it was easy to forget what he had once been. Yet, the clues were there, in every movement and action, if you knew what to look for.

“So, the first game.” Aedan’s voice was brisk, sweeping them forward. He selected some fruit from the basket beside him; grapes, strawberries, plums. He stood and Alistair noticed for the first time, the paddle and strap hanging from his belt. The sight sent a quiver of fear and anticipation through him. “The fruit will be scattered around the room.” Aedan moved past them as he said this. “Because you are both beautifully trained, and will undoubtedly keep face-forward, as you should,” Alistair froze, his neck in mid-movement, “you will not see where they land.”

“You will move alternately to locate and return a piece of fruit to the basket. You will move on hands and knees, you will pick the fruit up with your mouth. You will be swift and graceful, and you will not bruise the fruit.” These orders were given in a soft, cold tone which lost nothing from being so. Alistair had no doubt that Aedan would punish any transgression in similar manner. Nerves began to rise, in fear of failure, rather than of chastisement. 

“For this game you are working as a team. Any failings will reflect upon both of you.” Alistair swallowed hard, suddenly much, much more nervous. Suffering for his own failings was one thing, but to have Zevran punished for them was quite another.

“Do you both understand the rules?”

“ _Sì, Padrone_.” 

“Yes, Ser.” 

“If you have any questions, you may ask them now.” Aedan moved back in front of them, empty-handed, looking from face to face. He grinned at their silence. “Alistair, you’re first.” He unhooked the paddle from his belt. “3…2…1… begin.”

Alistair froze for a moment, and then spun around still kneeling. The paddle smacked hard against the upper part of his backside, catching his heels at the same time “Hands and knees.” He dropped forward, blushing at the error, looking for the fruit on the floor. The paddle came down again, on the base of his cheeks. “Too slow; move.” 

There, a plum, near the bed. He scrambled forward, feeling distinctly ungraceful, spurred on by the paddle; Aedan walking behind and continually spanking him. “Faster.”

It was difficult, really difficult, to stop and carefully take the plum between his lips with the paddle constantly falling, urgently reminding him to hurry. The sting in his rear was building fast, the heavy plug jolted with every spank of the paddle. He felt ungainly and slow, lumbering back to where Zev and the basket waited, with the plum between his lips and his arse smarting. The instant that Alistair dropped the fruit into the basket, _shit, I should have placed it carefully_ , Zev dropped to hands and knees and was off like a whippet.

The assassin’s grace and speed took his breath away. From his position knelt on the floor, Alistair could now see several pieces of fruit, but Zev showed no hesitation in choosing one. It seemed he had known where he was going before he moved, even though his back had been to the room. The paddle chased him, smacking on tanned skin and lines of ink, but it seemed to Alistair that he _couldn’t_ move any faster. The slim, lithe body was back so very fast, the fruit was carefully released into the basket and-

 _  
Bugger, I should have been ready to move. Which fruit do I want?   
_

He’d been so busy admiring Zevran’s form, Alistair had totally forgotten that he would have to perform again at any second. A strawberry caught his eye and he scrambled for it, the paddle landing on skin that had cooled only slightly. He tried to be fast, to be less clumsy, but had to circumnavigate a chair to get to his chosen fruit. He felt like an idiot, like he deserved the paddle. He hadn’t been ready and had chosen the wrong fruit and… was now faced with the most delicate of all the fruit types, which he wasn’t allowed to bruise. Stifling a groan, he oh-so-carefully picked up the strawberry in his mouth, taking far too long, the paddle landing briskly while Aedan urged him to hurry, to be quicker. By the time he returned, Alistair’s arse was flaming, but his face burned brighter, convinced that he was letting Zevran down.

After a couple more rounds of this, Alistair was hugely frustrated with himself, his body, his reaction times, everything. The pain of the paddle was the only thing holding him together, the only thing that felt _right_. He wanted to stop moving, put his head down in his hands and just accept the beating; to accept it and embrace it until it burned away his embarrassment. On his list of mortifying things was that, despite everything, his cock was hard as iron, loving every dreadful second of this torture. When the final piece of fruit fell into the basket, and Aedan called a halt, Alistair sat with his head hanging down, ignoring the training that had taught him to sit up, look up, and be proud. 

Aedan retook his original position in the chair before them, utterly relaxed, one leg slung over the chair arm.

“Alistair.” _Oh Maker, no_. “Tell me what you thought of Zevran’s performance.” _Huh?_

That was the last question he expected to be asked. “Um… he was brilliant.” Alistair couldn’t imagine why Aedan needed to ask him this; couldn’t he see how good Zev had been? “Really fast and graceful.”

“Hmm. Zevran.”

“ _Sì, Padrone_.” 

“What did you think of Alistair’s performance?”

“It was beautiful, _Padrone_. He only made mistakes in the first round, as the game was new to him, and learnt from them. He tried his very best from that point on and bore the game well.” Tears pricked at Alistair’s eyes. This was still his _Padrone_ , despite the current setup. Still encouraging him, finding the best in what he did.

“And your own performance, Zev?”

Alistair heard the assassin hesitate. So did Aedan. “Truthfully, Zevran.”

“I could have been much better. The game did not stretch me, and I did not stretch myself.”

Aedan nodded and turned back to Alistair, humour in his dark eyes. “Now, Alistair, without combusting from shame, if possible. What did you think of your own performance?”

“I… was awful; slow and clumsy and stupid.” There seemed little point in dressing it up.

Aedan shook his head slowly, his eyes still amused, still on Alistair. “No, Alistair. Zevran’s correct. Everyone makes mistakes when they first play, and you learnt quickly.” His smile broadened to a grin. “You’re slower than Zev because you carry more weight, but you are most definitely not clumsy. You move like a big, muscular predator and it’s very sexy. So sit up and hold your head high. If you hang your head in shame again, I’ll be seriously displeased with you.” The good humour in his tone didn’t hide the threat. Alistair hastily adjusted his posture, suddenly feeling much better about himself. Perhaps he wasn’t a _total_ disaster, after all.

“So, we move on to the next game.” Aedan reached over to the table beside him and retrieved from the jumble of items there a bottle, about the size of his palm. His eyes were on Zevran, and his face full of mischief.  


 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

As soon as Aedan produced the vial of heavy oil, Zevran’s stomach knotted up. He knew exactly what that meant, in combination with the large, heavy plugs they wore, and cursed his clever lover. He didn’t need the instructions, given for Alistair’s benefit, on how the two of them should oil themselves and each other from head to foot. Instead he concentrated on showing nothing, exhibiting no wishes or preferences, emulating the perfect _schiavo_. The prospect of the game excited him, particularly with Alistair. The prospect of the game _worried_ him, _because_ it was Alistair. If Aedan’s game harmed his gentle _schiavo,_ then Zevran would be _very_ annoyed.

Zev took the bottle from the _Padrone_ and poured oil onto Alistair’s cupped hands and into his own. This part at least could be freely enjoyed with no concerns. The body of his fellow _schiavo_ was a thing of beauty; all long, heavy muscle and soft skin. They began by smoothing oil over each other chests and arms, taking the opportunity to linger a little, to give and receive pleasure from the slick glide.

“You may both stand, and you are allowed to kiss and caress until I tell you to stop.” The instruction released them, but Zev was surprised by the power and speed of Alistair’s reaction. Without even waiting until they stood, he cupped the elf’s face between large oily hands and kissed him long and hungrily, like a starving man at a feast. Zevran responded in kind, drawing him to his feet without breaking the kiss, moving against oiled skin, feeling the press of hot, hard flesh against his belly. He poured more oil down Alistair’s back and began to work it in, still with mouths pressed together, tongues dancing. 

He knew the game, knew why Aedan wanted them to arouse each other so much, but couldn’t resist the draw of that mouth, the slide of calloused hands moving down to massage his arse. They had to break apart to oil each other’s legs and that was a torture for both of them. Each one knelt before the other, mouth only inches from aching, straining need, unable, without permission, to take that last step forward. On his turn, Zevran looked down to see Alistair looking up at him, his face still boyish and innocent, hazel eyes dark with desire, his mouth soft and slightly open. It took real effort for Zev to hold his hips still, to not offer what was plainly requested. Even worse was the gentle touch on cock and balls, applying oil liberally there, too. He shrouded himself in his training, holding himself separate. Alistair had no such advantage and whimpered openly when his turn came, when Zevran smoothed oil over the velvet shaft and silken head.

Until, finally, they were done, and the _Padrone_ called a halt.

“The game is this,” he said when they had returned to their places. “In a moment I will remove the plugs you are wearing. You will wrestle, without rising from your knees. The winner will be the one who successfully fucks the other.”

Zevran could feel Alistair’s shocked response beside him. This was a harsh, brutal game, culminating in a rough fuck that was as close to rape as consenting men could get. The extensive stretching they had received from the wide plugs would help to ensure that neither of them were harmed, but the game existed as much in the mind as the body. He had no idea how Alistair would react to it. He had no idea if he could do this to Alistair. He wasn’t sure which one of those thoughts worried him the most. The one thing he was completely convinced of was that Aedan had picked this game quite deliberately.

The _Padrone_ uncoiled from his chair and approached them. The fingers of one hand scraped through Zevran’s long locks while the other dug into Alistair’s short hair. He pulled both heads back, forcing them to look up at him as he towered over them. “You will play to win. I will know if you do not, and I shall severely punish any attempt to throw the game.”

 _  
Alistair will believe that, at least   
_   
, thought Zev. Aedan had only had a few years occasional experience of these kinds of situations. If Zevran chose to throw the game, he had a fair chance of getting away with it. _And if not, I can take the punishment, that’s not a problem_. The question was: did he want to? And the bigger question, the one shoved to the back of his mind and ignored, was: why would he want to?  


  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


The hands in their hair led them to their places, to crouch opposite each other on hands and knees. They were released and Aedan moved to remove the wide plugs. Alistair gasped as it was pulled out, feeling bereft, wide-open and wanting. In that moment he understood why Aedan’s instruction about winning had been so minatory; losing suddenly looked pretty appealing. His erect cock took exception to this idea immediately and had no hesitation in reminding him of its needs. His mind was a tumult of mixed emotions, drawn this way and that by his body. The fact that this was Zevran, his _Padrone_ , his lover, left him stuck halfway between craving the game and hating it. He wanted to feel that oiled body slipping against his, but to fight with him for violent sex? 

_  
The wrestling will be no different than training together as fighters   
_   
, he assured himself. Alistair looked at the taut, oiled frame knelt opposite: the alert, wary amber eyes that measured him, and the slim hands resting lightly on the wooden floor. He swallowed hard. He’d better start thinking about tactics, or it was all going to be a moot point.  


  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


The fight was going to be fascinating; there was no doubt about that. Watching the two of them face off against each other, one as lithe and flexible as a cat, the other as heavy and muscular as a young bear, Aedan was enormously stirred. Alistair’s conflict was obvious, his face reflecting every shift and change in emotion. His openness was a large part of his beauty, making his submission a thing of exquisite joy to behold. Zevran exposed himself only through how remote and self-contained he appeared. It showed how the game was stretching him, making him work. It was impossible to crack Zevran open as a slave unless he chose it, impossible for any amateur, at least. Aedan had stopped trying, years ago. His training had created a perfection that allowed no part of _Zevran_ to emerge. But this… this situation exposed him in a different way, ruined the façade of the perfect slave, forcing him to hide. 

“Ready…” Two oiled, naked bodies dug their feet into the floor, preparing to launch themselves at their opponent. “Begin.”  


  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


It would have been easy to sidestep Alistair’s first charge and try to take him from behind, but there were a number of reasons why Zev didn’t. The main one, he told himself, as he allowed Alistair to wrestle with him head-on, was that he was still at heart Alistair’s trainer, and ending this game so quickly would teach him very little. The sudden presence in his arms of a heavy, muscular, _enthusiastic_ man who was making a spirited attempt to pin him down and mount him swiftly wiped these thoughts away. It seemed that Alistair was throwing himself headlong into the game; as they grappled he could feel the man’s heart hammering in his chest and his breath came in sharp pants. This inflamed Zev in ways he had not anticipated; when Alistair tried to sweep his knees out from under him, hoping to pin him flat with sheer weight, he instinctively rolled away and came back in behind the bigger man, looking to get a choke-hold on him. With his arms around Alistair’s throat he pushed forward, seeking the entrance he needed, but their height differences defeated him; he would need a different tactic to succeed.

Alistair reacted by deliberately falling backwards, crushing his opponent below him before swiftly turning, using the slippery oil to his advantage. Inexperience let him down; it was not possible to force an entrance at this angle while holding down all the dangerous bits of Zevran which, at last count, consisted of all four limbs as a bare minimum. A scissor lock with his legs around Alistair’s neck threw him off and they circled on hands and knees, looking for a weakness. Teeth were bared and fingers twitched. Alistair seemed so sexy in this unusual aspect that Zev could hardly bear it; simultaneously aching both to possess him and to be possessed.  


  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


Inhibition had fled; Alistair only knew that the gorgeous body crouched opposite was _his_. Nothing existed outside the two of them. This room, this man, was all there was. His arousal was absolute, he could smell and feel everything that was _Zevran_ , even at this distance. He’d owned nothing in this life; everything he had, and was, belonged to others, belonged to the country. But this stunning man; this incredible, exotic creature… 

_  
Mine.   
_

He dived forward, rolling on the wooden floor, hoping to come up behind the elf. He only partially succeeded; Zevran turned skillfully on his knees, keeping Alistair in his sights. The side angle was enough to allow the bigger man to get a grip on his neck however, but the oil made purchase tricky and Zevran slid away without too much difficulty.

 

  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


They were beautiful; aggressive and intensely sexual. Heat surged through Aedan’s groin as he watched them struggle together; gorgeous oiled muscles flexing and stretching as they grappled and separated, greasy hands slipping off slick skin.

Alistair’s commitment to the game surprised him; he’d expected some hesitancy from the less experienced man and would have forgiven it, but he fought like a wild beast looking for a higher pack position. 

Zevran was the one holding back, cautious and defensive in the face of Alistair’s savagery, although both men’s cocks were straight and hard as battering rams, ready and willing to beat down the opposition. The sight brought Aedan’s hand to his own trousers, rubbing through the soft cloth, enjoying the show.

  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


The raw masculine power of Alistair’s attack surprised Zevran; he, also, had been expecting hesitancy from the innocent young man, and had been worried that Alistair may even refuse to fight. Now he had a new concern; the brutality of Alistair’s attacks was gorgeous, sexy, powerful, and very hot, but he had comparatively little experience with fucking men. If he tried to force entry with this same enthusiasm and lack of control, one of them could get hurt. There was very little that Zevran couldn’t handle, and even find pleasure in, but Alistair would never forgive himself if he tore his lover even slightly. It was time to take control of the game.

The next time Alistair lunged at him, attempting to use his superior strength to grab and bear him down, Zevran twisted to the side, moving on his knees almost as easily as on his feet. He seized Alistair’s wrist and elbow, using the warrior’s own weight to drive him forward, continuing on the line of his own impetus. A complex twist to the arm he held forced the shoulder towards the floor whilst maintaining control; if Alistair struggled now his arm would break in two places. It would not be possible to maintain this hold and mount him, but the initial positioning had been achieved with minimal effort, leaving Zevran’s energies intact for the more difficult business of subduing such a large opponent and fucking him while he fought.

  
_  
-oOo-  
  
_   


The speed and efficiency of the attack were astounding, effectively throwing cold water over the red heat of Alistair’s unusual savagery. Held in this posture, unable to move, cheek pressed to the floor and arse in the air, his natural inclinations reasserted themselves. 

_  
Padrone.    
_

Alistair whimpered as the fire of intense desire swept through his loins, destroying his defences. When the pressure was briefly removed from his arm, giving him the opportunity to break away, he didn’t even try. His _Padrone_ had mastered him with shocking swiftness and incredible grace and the fight had gone out of him. Zevran released him only for an instant before locking his arms through both of the bigger man’s elbows, controlling him again. Alistair felt the stab of hot flesh at his entrance and instead of squirming away he raised his hips slightly, offering himself. He couldn’t help it; he realised that, in his frenzy, he’d had it the wrong way around. 

_  
Not mine. Yours   
_   
. 

The oiled head slipped easily through his stretched hole and he groaned, pushing back against it, wanting more. It felt so damn good it forced everything else out of his head.

“Please, _Padrone,_ more.” The heartfelt plea caused the flesh slowly filling him to stop for a moment before Zevran whispered a savage curse in Antivan and plunged forward, his cock stroking over the internal wall, rubbing against Alistair’s own erection, and against the solid flesh behind his balls. His cry of pleasure was met by the assassin’s wild groan. The friction was glorious, if only he was allowed to touch himself, he would come for sure. He could feel the cock inside him swelling, Zevran’s cries becoming more desperate-

“Stop.”

Aedan’s cold voice was like an icy shower; Alistair had almost forgotten he was there. Zevran ceased his movements instantly, panting in harsh gasps.

“Hold yourself and withdraw, Zevran. You will not come.”

Zevran’s obedience left Alistair empty, bereft and horrified, freed from the restraining arms. He had thrown the game, defied Aedan’s instructions. Dear Maker, what had come over him? He scrambled back up from his ungainly position and knelt, his erection throbbing, brought so close to completion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Zevran, already back in position, his hand tight around the base of his cock, could hear his breathing becoming slower, less harsh.

“Once you are sure you are back under control, you may let go.” Aedan was on his feet, his voice remote, and his face expressionless. Zevran nodded once and removed his hand. His cock still seemed painfully swollen.

“You both know why I called a halt.” He stood behind them; Alistair didn’t dare turn even slightly. “Alistair, do you have anything you would like to say?”

“I- I’m sorry, ser. I gave up, I stopped fighting.” Fierce shame curled in his belly; he had let himself and Zevran down. 

“’Ser’ was not the word I heard you use a moment ago, Alistair.” 

_  
Oh Maker, I didn’t, did I? Hell’s teeth, I did. Shit.    
_   
“No, ser.”

“You referred to my other slave as _Padrone_ , as Master.”

“Yes, ser.” He could feel Zevran’s tension beside him. He was ashamed of his pupil, no doubt.

“You were informed that punishment for throwing the game would be severe. In view of the rest of your behaviour, it must be doubly so.”

“Yes, ser.” Alistair’s hands were shaking; he pressed them on his knees.

“ _Padrone,_ please.”

“Quiet, Zevran, I haven’t given you permission to speak.” Aedan walked over to the chest near the door and lifted the lid. After a short rummage he emerged and they could see what he was holding.

Alistair’s heart stuttered in his chest. It was a cane; a short, flexible one. Zevran had never used one on him, having realised early on that Alistair feared it. It brought memories of the monastery, and punishments for supposedly severe transgressions: shouting during meditation hours, skipping prayers.

“You will count the strikes out loud, Alistair.” The chilly, emotionless tone fed his fear.

“Y-Yes, ser.”

Aedan moved over to a bare stretch of wall. “Zevran, come here.”

 _  
Wait, what?   
_

“ _Sì, Padrone_.” The assassin moved immediately to stand where Aedan pointed.

“Hands on the wall, feet apart.” Zevran did as he was bid and Aedan used the cane to push his legs further apart, until they were spread as he wished.

 _  
No. This can’t be happening.   
_

The cane was laid across Zevran’s tight buttocks. Aedan looked over into Alistair’s shocked eyes. “I suggest you be ready to do as I instructed, or the strike will not count towards the total.”

“Ser, _please_.” The plea was heartfelt; the idea of Zevran taking the punishment on his behalf tore Alistair up inside.

“No. I know what you want and my answer is no. In this room, Alistair, there can only be one Master at a time. You will never again forget this fact.” 

_  
I won’t, I won’t, I promise. Please don’t do this.   
_

_  
-oOo-   
_

 

During all of this Zevran had not moved a muscle. Aedan turned, dismissing Alistair from his mind, ensuring the cane was positioned as he wished. Their little novice, kneeling in anguish, watching as another man took his punishment, couldn’t know that Zevran would undoubtedly enjoy this. The cane Aedan had chosen was light and whippy and he intended to keep the strikes soft.

He allowed the cane to rest there a moment longer, dragging the agony out for Alistair’s benefit. A flick of the wrist and-

 _  
Snick.   
_   
Zevran flinched just a tiny bit, a mere tightening of the muscles. A short red line appeared across one tanned cheek, overlaying the faded pink blush of the earlier paddling.

“One.” Alistair’s voice cracked slightly on the syllable.

The cane was laid directly below the red line, which was beginning to rise into a welt. Another flick and-

 _  
Snick.   
_   
From where Aedan stood he saw Zevran’s cock jerk. Alistair was at the wrong angle to observe it. A second line appeared, parallel to the first. Cane strikes hurt incrementally; each causing more pain and pleasure than the last, as they built up.

“Two.”

 _  
Snick.   
_

Once five neat little red welts showed on the left buttock, Aedan moved the short cane to the right. Zevran’s head had fallen forward, his eyes were closed and his breath shuddered in his chest; his lover was certain that he was concentrating on not coming, particularly after his previous close call. Tears were trickling down Alistair’s face, but Aedan noted that his cock was still iron-hard. Humiliation had its attractions, apparently.

 _  
Snick.   
_   
Zevran’s deep groan certainly _sounded_ pained.

“Six.” The word was whispered on a sob.

By the tenth stroke Zevran’s breathing was harsh and fast, his hands pressed hard against the wall. The neat lines had swollen into deep pink welts, highly visible against the overall blush. “Well done, Zev. Turn around.” Aedan pointed at Alistair with the cane and gestured to Zevran’s painful erection. “Suck him.”

“Yes, Master.” Alistair scrambled forward, and offered his mouth for Zevran’s cock with an eagerness that was beautiful to behold. Aedan was fairly certain that the honorific had been given automatically; the lesson learnt.  


 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

The incredible soft heat of Alistair’s mouth nearly undid Zevran right there and then. He held back, wanting to enjoy it as long as possible; the fantastic sensation, the sight of his lover’s apologetic, tear-stained face turned up to him. 

A hand stroked Zev’s hair, and a gentle kiss landed on his throat; Aedan was behind him, showing the affection he couldn’t offer earlier. Alistair’s mouth slid along his shaft, tongue rubbing under the head. A wicked chuckle sounded against Zevran’s neck – much more in keeping with his Warden’s usual personality - while thick fingers pinched the sore welts, drawing a moan of pleasure. A swirl of Alistair’s tongue drew another, deeper moan; he couldn’t stand much more, not after being denied and teased so much. 

Tears were falling from the beautiful hazel eyes of his kneeling lover, and Zevran touched them in incredulous wonder. He didn’t think anyone had ever cried for him before. Desperate to show how sorry he was, Alistair used the technique he had barely mastered, taking Zevran down deep, fighting the gag reflex, swallowing his own tears. The gentle fluttering of Alistair’s throat against his cock, combined with the knowledge that Alistair had cared enough to shed actual tears for him, was the final straw. Zev came hard, his seed hitting the back of Alistair’s throat, his cock pumping so strongly he could barely stand it. He thought his knees would give way and had to wrap his fingers in the red-gold hair of the man at his feet just to stay upright.  


 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

Alistair sucked down the last of the slightly bitter release, and allowed Zevran’s cock to slip from his mouth. He laid his forehead against the assassin’s lower abdomen. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

A weak chuckle was the last thing he expected. The fingers in his hair relaxed and smoothed it down. “Hush, _coure mio_ , there is no need for all this.”

Strong hands hauled Alistair to his feet and he was pulled into a crushing hug. “He’s right.” Aedan flung his arm around Zevran, tugging him forward into the hug, too. “It’s all over now, totally behind us.” Kisses from both men fluttered over his face, sipping at his tears. “Get on the bed, Alistair. I owe you a reward for the royal gardens earlier, remember?”

“Um, may I put some salve on Zev’s welts, first?”

Zevran shook his head, although his amber eyes glowed with emotion. “ _Caro mio_ , they are nothing. _Nothing_.” His hand stroked over Alistair’s heated erection, making him gasp. “And you are in need, no? Do as the _Padrone_ tells you.”

Zev led Alistair to the bed while Aedan took a moment to strip his clothes off before joining them. Alistair felt wrung out. He’d been through an emotional storm; from embarrassment to furious heat, followed by submission, fear, horror and humility. After all that, to have both these men crawling onto the bed with a clear determination to make love to him was awe-inspiring, and emotion surged up again as Zevran claimed his mouth. Four hands slid over his body as Aedan moved in behind him, turning him on his side to sandwich him between them. The rasp of bristle against the nap of his neck heralded Aedan’s kiss. The warmth and affection were glorious, even more so after the cold isolation of that awful caning.

Alistair kissed Zevran as deeply as he could, his arms wrapped around the Antivan, and his cock pressed to a taut belly that, _oh_ , was still quite oily. A chuckle against his mouth acknowledged the fact and Zevran moved sinuously to trap the hard flesh between them, two oiled bodies providing so much heat and friction. He groaned against the assassin’s mouth and then groaned even more deeply, pulling away to throw back his head, as Aedan’s fingers slid down to stroke his arsehole. 

Zev nibbled on Alistair’s exposed throat, still moving against him like a dancer, stomach and hips swaying to and fro like a snake. Alistair wanted to press forward for more, but he wanted to press back, too. Aedan’s fingers were doing sterling work, but he wanted more and wriggled back until he found it. _There_. Now Zev wasn’t the only one whose hips danced. Alistair rolled his entrance over the head of Aedan’s cock, brazenly inviting him, and was rewarded with the deep rasp of his gasp and a bite on his shoulder.

The dual movements did fantastic things to his trapped cock. Without thinking he moved his hand to grab Zev’s arse and pull him forward, releasing him in shocked horror when the breath hissed between his teeth.

“I- I’m sorry, I-”

The Antivan pulled his hand back over the hot, welted skin and squeezed. “Don’t stop,” he whispered. 

Alistair realised that Zev’s cock was thickening and rising again already, and he finally understood. He pinched gently on a welt and moaned as his lover’s hips pushed forward against him. Aedan’s cock was slowly and carefully entering him. He was stretched and oiled, but the cock was not. Aedan’s hand on Alistair’s hip held him where he wanted him, and he tried hard not to push back against it, to allow the slow entry to happen. 

He slipped a hand down between him and Zev, seeking and finding Zev’s awakening erection, moving it so that it too was trapped with his own. Aedan was nearly fully seated and Alistair tried to hold still for it, but with one cock rubbing over the hotspot within him, and another rolling against his own, he badly wanted to move. He contented himself with running his tongue over the long line of Zev’s sensitive ear, coaxing him to press forward again, to provide more of that glorious friction.

He’d lost his fear of those raised welts now, rubbing them with his thumb while Zev buried his face in Alistair’s throat and cursed under his breath. The twin lengths of solid flesh rubbing together reassured him that the curses were not unhappy ones and he kissed Zev’s hair affectionately. Movement within him made him groan into the silken strands and there was a grunt of pleasure from Aedan, his mouth kissing across Alistair’s shoulder. Dear Maker, it felt so good to be trapped here between them; warmth and affection and so much _sensation_.

It seemed the more he had, the more he wanted, so Alistair nudged at Zev’s head until it raised from his shoulder, sealing his mouth over the Antivan’s as soon as it came into reach. Their bodies danced together, following the rhythm that Aedan set, grinding against each other, swirling their oily skin in circles to provide maximum pleasure. Alistair was close, so close; he tingled all over, and there was a deep tension within him, waiting to explode. Aedan’s cock buried within him was providing the most amazing sensations that pulsed all through his groin and Zevran… Zevran was _here_ ; all hot mouth and cinnamon taste and Alistair couldn’t pull him any closer, though he wanted to, and tried, with his hand on that hot welted arse, drawing him forward a fraction more.

Aedan’s tempo was speeding up and he had his forehead pressed against Alistair’s back, grunting harshly. The increased friction and the faster movement were too much. _Oh_ , he was going to come; his breath came in pants and he couldn’t kiss any longer. It surged up, making his cock pump and swell and all there was in the world was this. He was in spasm around Aedan, the jerking of his cock mirrored in the rippling muscles of his hole, until the man behind him buried himself deep and held there, trembling, spurting within him.

Alistair whimpered against Zev’s mouth and in the moment of his own release he wrapped his arms tight around his lover and whispered, “ _I’m yours_.”

And as he exploded, spilling seed and uncontrollable groans in equal measure, he thought he heard a soft thread of noise, a sussuration, that sounded like, “ _Sì,_ ” as the assassin followed him over the edge.  


 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

Later, much later, Alistair awoke, still wrapped around Zev. There was colder air behind him that suggested Aedan was no longer in the bed, and he turned his head, peering in the soft, uncertain light of the flickering, burnt-down candles to find him. Seeing the dark shape stood near the window, he carefully disentangled himself and slid from the bed, padding over to join him.

Aedan turned as he approached, dark eyes crinkling. Laugh lines were starting to appear around both his eyes and his mouth, and Alistair wondered how long they’d been there. They’d both been so young when they met.

“D’you want some wine?” He gestured to the bottle, which was looking rather worse for wear.

“Just a quick one, then I must get back to the palace.” Alistair poured a half goblet from the bottle and took a sip. “You’ve been awake a while?”

“Mm, I didn’t get to sleep.” Aedan threw back the rest of his goblet and put it down, reaching over to kiss Alistair. His mouth was warm and grapey, rich with wine. He broke the kiss, his hand firm around Alistair’s neck and frowned a little muzzily at his friend. “Why d’you have to go back? Sod ‘em.”

“Er, King, remember? There’ll be talk if I stay out all night.”

“Pfft, there’ll always be gossip, Alistair. All Kings take lovers. If you hide yours, they’ll whisper behind their hands that you’re limp.”

“But my lovers are _men_. Not exactly the dashing reputation they’d like me to have, I suspect.”

“You think you’re the first?” Aedan’s grin was as mischievous as a boy, despite the laughter lines. He rubbed his face against Alistair’s, their early morning bristle rasping together. He put his mouth near the King’s ear, mock-conspiratorially. “You think Cailan never plunged into a tighter hole than Anora’s?”

“What? No. Really?”

“So rumour said. I could ask Fergus, he’d know better, they’re of an age.” Aedan was watching him a little carefully, and Alistair wondered what thoughts were going through his head, what had kept him up drinking while they slept. “I’ll be staying another day and then we’ll be going back to Vigil’s Keep.”

“You- oh, both of you, right? Of course.” 

_  
Of course.   
_

_  
“   
_   
I hope so. I’ve missed him.” Aedan’s eyes were gazing over Alistair’s shoulder to where Zevran slept. “You know how we are, Alistair. How we’ve always been.” His eyes came back to meet Alistair’s hazel ones and the King nodded. Yes, he knew. They slept with everyone, but only cared about each other. He’d known that, right? It’s the way of things. But Alistair’s heart ached in his chest and the prospect of being alone here at the palace, with a wife who ignored him and his never-ending duty, was a cold and lonely one.

“We have a rule that we stick to. Have had for years. We don’t seduce anyone who wants more from us than sex.” Alistair swallowed and nodded again. He was being shut out. It was understandable. He’d been lucky to receive what he’d had. Very lucky.

“Well…” Aedan’s hand was still on the back of Alistair’s neck, and his thumb began to rub circles there. “I think we’ll need to change it. I think the rule is wrong.”

“Oh?” Alistair choked on the syllable as it stuck on the lump in his throat and he coughed and tried again. “Oh? Wrong how?”

“The rule should be that we don’t seduce anyone who wants more from us than we’re willing to give.” A second hand joined the first on his neck, drawing him forward for another swift, winey kiss. “You’re my best friend, Alistair, and you’re gorgeous. That’s who you are to me, and that’s what I love you as.” Their foreheads were pressed together and the lump in Alistair’s throat was choking him. “I did you a disservice when I made you King. You should be at the Vigil with us.”

 _  
With us.   
_   
It wasn’t possible to actually go that route, rock-falls blocked that path years ago, but it made Alistair feel warm to think that he would have been wanted.

Aedan chuckled. “Of course, if you had, I’m willing to put money on it that you would have fallen for some timid, virginal little woman who’d rather have died than raise a hand to you.” There was another warm, grape-scented kiss. “Instead of being tucked up with us after a good, hard tanning.” Just hearing it made his cock twitch and rise.

“So,” Aedan was looking straight at him now, dark eyes serious for once. Behind him Alistair heard the shift of sheets as Zevran left the bed and the pad of footsteps behind him. “Are you willing to keep the new rule?”

Alistair assumed he was speaking to Zev and turned to look at him as he approached. His blond hair was a little ruffled and his amber eyes sleepy. He was beautiful. And he was leaving.

“Alistair?” Aedan’s voice was questioning.

“What? Me?” He was bewildered. “Why are you asking me?” Zevran’s arms slid around his waist.

“Because the rule only works if we all agree to it, _amore mio_.” Liquid honey flowed over the words, mesmerising him and it took a moment to penetrate. Maker’s Breath, he wasn’t being shut out. He was being _allowed in_.

 _  
Now I really am going to cry.   
_   
As his eyes welled up, he heard Zevran’s rich chuckle. “Do not cry, dear Alistair, it is not so bad. There are really _very few_ people that we cannot enjoy because of the rule.”

Alistair choked on a laugh and Aedan kissed him again hard. “Now come back to bed. You’re going to officially become one of the most notorious seducers in the land, which will be _fantastic_ for your royal reputation. Best get some practice in.” He led the King back to bed, with Zev on Alistair’s other side, his arm still around his waist. 

“Don’t look so worried, _amore mio_. We shall have a few weeks at the Vigil, a few weeks apart, a few weeks here in Denerim, yes? It is time you flexed your royal will a little, I think. You have been spoiling your Arl Eamon with your continuous presence.”

He was right. They were both right.

 _  
I can have all this.   
_

He could have Aedan’s brusque, fraternal love, and he could have Zevran, his _Padrone,_ to whom he’d hand over his life in an instant if he could.

“Yes. I can definitely keep the rule.” Alistair reached for his lovers and they came to him.  


 _  
-oOo-   
_


End file.
